


The Consequences of Idle Hands

by StupidFatPenguin



Series: Prompt Fills - The Hobbit/Lotr [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Basically: he should've put a ring on it, M/M, Misunderstaning, Multi, Pining, Tumblr Prompt, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:46:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22701946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StupidFatPenguin/pseuds/StupidFatPenguin
Summary: Letting Bilbo Baggins leave Erebor with no acknowledgement of his feelings for him was, arguably, the most foolish thing Thorin ever let happen in the wake of the battle. At war with himself, it has taken him some time to come to the realisation that his heart-forge will never be content as long as Bilbo is not there with him.With his misguided self-preservation out of the way, Thorin and the Company sets out on a Westward journey to hopefully reclaim their burglar and bring him back to Erebor. However, as they reach the Shire they find the hobbits bustling around in full preparation for a feast—a wedding feast, to be more exact, and the dwarves soon overhear that it is made to celebrate the marriage of aMister Baggins
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: Prompt Fills - The Hobbit/Lotr [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632850
Comments: 47
Kudos: 248





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a [Tumblr Prompt.](https://selene467.tumblr.com/post/190736832575/bagginshield-prompt)
> 
> Mmm I don't know, I was going to do this as a warm-up piece and ended up writing more than intended.  
> I honestly love these misunderstanding fics so much, I want to read all of them... ;__;
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, however short! Please excuse all mistakes. If I'm inspired, I hope I can write the continuation, as well!

“Look at all these hobbits bustling about!”

Kíli shares his observation to the rest of the company with great enthusiasm, as if the dwarves—all thirteen of them—were not standing smack in the middle of the commotion of hobbits rushing around the settlement of Bywater with carts and baskets and flowers and what-not, as if some great occurrence was afoot.

The halflings give them a wide breadth, some eyeing them with wary, distrustful looks, but none stop to ask their business. Perhaps they are all simply too busy to bother.

The last time Thorin Oakenshield had travelled into the Shire it had been under the cover of night, and he had left it much too early to truly witness much of its inhabitants and their way of life. In fact, most of his knowledge of hobbits stems from his encounters with but a single, albeit very special one.

He knows they like the comforts of a simple life. Of good tiled earth, of warm hearths and comfy chairs and flowering gardens.

And, if all the carts of tables, food and ale are any indication, a good old celebration certainly wasn’t amiss.

“They seem to be preparing for quite a party, don’t they!” Bofur pipes up from atop his pony, moving it aside to let another, wider cart pass down the road, greeting the courier with a tip of his hat.

“You don’t suppose they will be amiable to letting us join them? For a fair share, of course,” Dori asks and is met with many murmurs of agreement.

“It is not why we’re here,” Balin reminds them, and is met with just as many murmurs of _begrudging_ agreement.

“Yes, yes. Should we press on then?” Dwalin grumbles. “We left the ponies in some stables around here last time.”

“By the Green Dragon Inn, yes,” Ori chimes in. “But surely we will have rooms in Bag End?”

“Oh absolutely! Bilbo wouldn’t leave us out and cold! We best leave the ponies though—I don’t recall anywhere else to keep them close by,” Fili reasons.

“We would do best not to hastily draw such conclusions.”

Thorin’s cautioning remark has them snapping to attention, although his youngest sister-son scoffs loudly at him.

“Don’t be such a worry-wart, my King!” Kíli urges with an easy smile. “Bilbo is our _friend_. He still cares for us very much—cares for _you_ still, when all is said and done! It is all there in his letters! And is that not why we’re here in the first place? So that you can ask his return to Erebor?”

“I do not pretend to know another’s feelings in such matters,” Thorin warns, but his severity is softened by the sparking sliver of hope that has kept a fiery glow alight in his core since they began their travels west and towards this undertaking.

The company exchange knowing smiles and murmurs amongst each other, all of which he elects to ignore in favour of leading them to the vaguely familiar Green Dragon Inn.

The stable hand that greets them seems only mildly shocked at their appearance – and their grand number of _fourteen_ ponies – as word of their arrival must already have travelled by hustling hobbit feet. He lets Glóin know to pay him handsomely for his troubles.

They repack and take their drinks of water, readying for the final stretch that will take them to Hobbiton, and to their dearly missed companion. To Bag-End. To Bilbo.

Thorin hasn’t quite yet made an agreement within the confinement of his own head regarding what he should say to their former burglar once he stands on his doorsteps for a second time. He has, of course, played through many possible scenarios in his head through their many weeks of travel, either through slow days passed atop his steed or by the campfire at night in the meagre comforts of his bedroll.

His indecision bothers him. He had confessed his ills and wrongdoings to the hobbit at what he had thought would be his deathbed, only to have fate sweep him from death’s grasp and put him back into the mess he had made of the world in his greed and sickness. But his confessions surely must not have been sufficient to truly earn him forgiveness. For, in the end, Bilbo had still left. While the letters he had exchanged, with both Thorin and the others of the Company, spoke of nothing but friendship and forgiveness, truth is often well concealed upon expressionless parchment.

And, the feelings Thorin has found his heart to be nurturing long after Bilbo’s departure might not be welcome in the complications now shrouding their already tarnished friendship.

He has dared to let himself imagine that it has, as Bilbo had written, all been forgiven. He has imagined arriving at Bag-End, letting his company ahead of him to share laughter and loud greetings with their esteemed friend, watching their joy from afar until Bilbo would turn to him, his face alight with happiness and relief and the same longing that Thorin has lived with for far, far too long. He has imagined meeting him on his porch in the evening to share a pipe and many good and perilous memories from their adventures; they would relish in their satisfaction while recounting the greater deeds they had accomplished, argue their own retellings and perspectives, laugh at the particularly good ones, and easily fall into a comfortable silence with the thrum of mirth still rumbling in their chests. Thorin’s confession of his affections would come then, rolling smooth as waves of poetry in the night as moonlight danced upon his intended’s face, upon the brow where he would dare place his own should his proposal be well received.

In other scenarios, there are more tears, more anger and remorse and feelings that have yet not been allowed to run their course. But in the relief that follows, the conclusion is much the same: Bilbo’s hands tenderly grasping his own and plans made for their departure to Erebor before summer’s end.

Sometimes, in the later hours of the night when his mind is less guarded and his heart more daring, he has even imagined storming up the road to Bag-End, to do away with all pretence and decorum and take Bilbo into his arms at his doorstep, to let a first kiss of yearning and passion speak for him—and for it to be returned, for _it cannot possibly be_ that he was the only one to have fallen so thoroughly and so deeply on their journey and _surely_ Bilbo Baggins, the fire of his forge and keeper of his heart, wants and cares for him just as profoundly in turn.

It is such wishful thinking, Thorin knows. And he knows he will lack the courage to attempt it, if he even has the right to make such a bold approach after all that’s happened between them.

They are very close now. Hobbiton is but a short walk from Bywater, and in but an hour or so Thorin will know the outcome of this venture.

It is, in a way, very much like standing on the threshold of the secret door on Durin’s day—at the end of a long journey, at the conclusion of a chapter that leads to the continuing story. The story that in the end, after its dangers and darkness and perils, led to the rebuilding of Erebor. Of his home. The home that his heart, in its deepest, most earnest chambers, yearns for Bilbo to share with him.

How he could ever have let him go without knowing that, Thorin will regret until his last days.

But he is here now to make right of this wrong. That the most trusted dwarves in his life have come with him lends him the strength and the courage to see this task through. They all long for the return of their burglar to their midst, should he be amiable to agree, and if Thorin’s longing runs much deeper than so… well. The rest is up to Bilbo Baggins to decide.

“Should I call for the innkeeper to help take your baggage to your rooms?”

“That won’t be necessary, laddie,” Balin tells the stable hand, who while wary of them still portrays the standard of hobbit hospitality. “We shall hopefully not be needing any rooms tonight.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” the stable hand shares with them, causing a few dwarves to twitch curiously.

“How so?” Dori asks on their behalf.

“Well, because of the party, of course!” the lad explains. “There’ll be folks travelling from all the four Farthings, I dare say! Some are staying with extended family I believe, but with all the Brandybuck clan coming down from Brandy Hall I dare say there won’t be more than a room or two free tonight. Might be a tight squeeze for the lot of you!”

“We’ve made do with less,” Nori mumbles to his companions’ reminiscent nods, but the stable hand doesn’t hear him, for the innkeeper himself appears then with an exacerbated squeak as he sees the lot of dwarves there.

“Oh, Burchard Button! Pray you haven’t promised this lot any rooms, for there aren’t any more to be had!”

“Not to worry, Mister Burrows! I was just doing some informing, and they say they’re not staying—just the ponies, see.”

“Oh goodness, that’s all well then,” the innkeeper, Mister Burrows, sighs his relief, looking thoroughly overrun with the party-business and the work it is bringing him. “So where is the lot of you headed? If you don’t mind me asking, Master Dwarf.”

“A simple visit,” Balin smiles diplomatically, and the hobbits seem more at ease around them then.

“Well it’s certainly the right time for it! As long as you’re not making no trouble, summer is certainly the best time to be travelling though. Our rooms are fully booked but do come by for a hot meal and good ale! We have the best brews to be had in the West Farthing, I can vouch for that.”

The innkeeper sells his business with a gentle assuredness and enough pride to match a dwarven merchant. They smile and nod amiably, but all quietly hope to enjoy food and drink within the cosy walls of a familiar hobbit-hole come evening.

Mister Burrows turns to the young stable hand then. “Now if you’re quite done seeing to those ponies, the last party from Buckland just arrived and I need more capable hands to carry their luggage! They seem to have brought a whole smial with them.”

“I’ll be there in a moment, Mister Burrows!”

“See that you are! Gracious, I will have sprouted many a-grey hairs before this is all over. I will be very happy, I will, once tonight has passed and this wedding-business is all over and done with! Then again, I suppose it’s been a long time since we saw a mister Baggins get married in Hobbiton. They do throw the most generous parties.”

“Right you are, Mister Burrows. I wish I were lucky enough to attend!”

“Agreed. But now, _do_ come and attend to the guests from Buckland! They’ve been waiting a good long while already, and I won’t stand for a single smear on the name of this establishment! And good-day, Master Dwarfs!”

And then the hobbits are gone just as quickly as they had appeared, unknowingly leaving thirteen dwarves with blank, stony expressions and equally stone-sinking feelings in their stomachs as they all come to realise that the hustle and bustle of hobbits they have witnessed today are the wedding preparations of one _Mister Baggins_ of Hobbiton.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company consider their options, and only nearly avoid storming Hobbiton to steal back their burglar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for your kind comments and lovely feedback. c:
> 
> I wasn't really supposed to write more for this and I have no idea where exactly this is going, but here is another part to this prompt-fill and hopefully another part will follow.
> 
> (Let me know if you have any ideas for what you'd like to see in this story. I usually have them more planned out, so I'll take any inspiration I can get!)
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this continuation where Thorin and the dwarves can't agree on the genre of this fic, and neither can I.

It is Balin who eventually suggests they find somewhere quiet to hold council.

Thorin nods his agreement and his feet follow along as the Company leaves the bustling life of Bywater. He is faintly aware that the dwarves whisper among themselves, that there is an occasional glance in his direction as they move, but there is something to be said for the single mindedness one can dedicate to putting one’s foot in front of the other. Watching the displacement of twigs and pebbles under his soles is a kind of solace from the loud roaring in his mind.

They settle about a clearing in the small woods somewhere on the way to Hobbiton, away from the many carts and halflings travelling up and down the roads. Only the trees and birds and animals around them are their company there. There follows an unsettling silence that is very uncharacteristic for a band of travelling dwarves. When Thorin lifts his head to investigate, he finds them all turned to him, wary and waiting. Awaiting his… command, perhaps? His conclusion upon receiving the news they have just heard?

What conclusion, indeed. Any direct line of action eludes him, for while some honourable part of him knows what is the right thing to do, another is telling him that he should leave, turn around and leave it all be, as soon as he can, and the aching in his chest that he has yet to give a name is in loud agreement.

“Well then.” Balin takes to word when it becomes apparent that his King will not. “I will start by saying that I’m certain Bilbo must have attempted to inform us of this momentous change to his circumstances, but as we have been on the road for the past two months it is likely that any letter meant for us might not have found us, and—”

“This isn’t right!” Kíli breaks his silence and seems to break what apprehension has dammed the dwarves’ discontent with it, for it all comes bursting forth then. “None of this makes any sense!”

“Of course it makes sense. Our burglar has moved on, and that all on that,” says Glóin to much contempt from the rest of them. “Oh, I dislike it as much as you do, but he is no dwarf. Halflings live and love different from us.”

“You’ve got to be joking!” Dwalin groans and Dori huffs loudly.

“Our mister Baggins is not a dwarf, but neither is he so simple at heart. You cannot have us believe that after all that he has gone and changed it, just all of a sudden!”

“Of a sudden? It’s been years! And hobbits might think that a mighty long time.”

“Didn’t take him more than a couple o’ months to warm up to the grumpiest dwarf prince there ever was,” Bofur concedes with a half-jesting lilt. To this, most of the dwarves have to shrug in a halfway form of agreement, while others still grow more infuriated.

“Because they were obviously made for one another!” cries Kíli, who is still very young and by far the one among them with the most romantic outlook on the world. “Even so, there is no way he would not have told us earlier!”

“Yes, of course! Bilbo would have mentioned it before if he had a sweetheart waiting for him here,” Fíli adds on.

“None of it seems right,” Nori agrees. “Bilbo always said he was well-off and high-standing ‘round these parts. Wouldn’t surprise me if someone’s forced his hand.”

There is a collective dissension rising among the dwarves at this notion.

“Are you saying someone’s tricked him?” Bombur asks worriedly.

“Blackmailed, more likely,” Nori concedes, voicing what they are all thinking then, and there’s another uproar soon after. At some point, Bifur suggests they storm Hobbiton and bring Bilbo to safety at once. Half of them have all but taken to arms when Thorin feels his temper is fed up with their squabbling and speculations on the matter and roars for them to take to silence.

They all do and then look to him for further instructions, appearing to be waiting for a plan of battle, or at the very least a call to arms. He scowls at each and every one of them until they settle back down, confusion and disagreement clear in their sullen faces.

“You will do well not to speculate such scenarios with no proof to back your claims.” Thorin speaks the words gravely, but it is as much to the Company as to himself. Once Nori had mentioned such a possibility, that Bilbo’s hand could indeed have been forced, such an outcome, no matter how terrible, felt so very preferable to the alternative—that he had committed to matrimony with a mysterious partner of his own free will.

The Company is chastised in their silence and Balin smiles approvingly before taking to word once more.

“Thorin is right. As it is, we know nothing of the situation before us other than what our imaginations may conjure up. We need to collect our evidence, and indeed, we need to speak with Bilbo before drawing any further conclusions.”

Agreement reflates among them, along with spirit and determination to do as Balin has suggested.

“But the wedding is _today_ ,” Glóin warns. “The innkeeper said so. If we are making right of this, we have only hours to do so.”

“Then we should all go and talk to Bilbo at once!” Kíli suggests impatiently. “Between all of us, I’m sure we can make him see reason.”

“And if we can’t find him?” says Óin. “If it is his wedding day, I reckon he might not be trapped in his house all day. He might be out, finishing his preparations.”

“We should spread out,” Dwalin offers. “Cover more ground, learn more, as soon as we can. If there’s anything foul stirring here we need to know who’s involved and who to have _words_ with, if it becomes necessary.”

“A fine plan, brother!” Balin agrees, and as do many others—but Thorin cannot share in their optimism.

If Bilbo Baggins is indeed marrying today, it is all within his own right to do so. He had never given any promises to Thorin, except for his invitation extended to all of the Company to come by his home whenever they please. Never had he said he would wait on him, and indeed why would he? Thorin had never given him reason to. No, if Bilbo marries today, if he has let the seeds of adoration grow and bloom for another, it is because Thorin never dared foster what was sown between them before it was too late.

And as much as it tears at him, churns uneasily in his stomach and tastes of acid on his tongue, he knows this. The truth stands before him, clear and unshrouded.

He should face the consequences his own idleness has brought upon him.

“We should leave,” Thorin says, and rises. The rest of them instantly look to him, and he chokes the protest stirring in his own blood at the words he knows he must utter.

“Uncle, you cannot mean—” He raises his hand before his nephew can finish.

“We have come this far. We will go see mister Baggins and wish him well on his day of celebration. But we will not force our wills and wishes upon him. Should we be allowed to stay the night, we will, but we will leave and return to Erebor on the morrow. I cannot leave the mountain without its king for much longer.”

There is a moment of contemplation as this order is given, and the younger dwarves look ready to stand up against their King until Balin chuckles and says, “Very well then. Now that we all agree not to _force_ Bilbo into anything without his consent, let us begin our investigations. And no, Thorin, I’m afraid I would rather not have you order us to silence and idleness—as you can see, it has gotten none of us anywhere as of late.”

He shuts his mouth, and scowls inquiringly at his oldest friend who only winks in return.

“Now, then. Here is what I suggest we do.”

-

Hobbiton appears before them just around midday—but not nearly as quiet and peaceful as any of them remembers. There is much commotion there, all the way from the mill by the Water and up to the Hill!

More hobbits than they had seen even in Bywater haste about on the roads and in the fields. And out in an especially _large_ field where one grand, branching tree stands at its centre, dozens upon dozens of tables have been placed, and many tents have been pitched. Lanterns are being hung and tables are being set, and long chains adorned with summer blooms hang along low branches and between tent-poles. It seems the preparations are well under way.

The Company continues into Hobbiton, but they do not all go in the same directions.

It is decided that Thorin and Balin will go to Bag End directly to see Bilbo, as had been their plan originally had this whole wedding business not fallen down on their noses. Óin, Dori and Ori all decide to come along, and as does Bofur who had been among the first of the dwarves to make friends with their burglar on their quest—and some additional friendliness could certainly not hurt after years apart.

The rest set off in a different direction. Dwalin, Bifur, Bombur and Glóin will comb through Hobbiton and search for Bilbo or other news of him there.

Kíli wishes nothing more than to see Bilbo at once, but when he sees Nori headed off into Hobbiton, and not up to the Hill and Bag End, he grabs his brother, and the princes fall into pace with the resourceful, older dwarf.

“Ah, your royal highnesses. Good, good. I might need your charms for this.”

“What are you planning to do?” Fíli queries carefully, knowing to be on watch for anything that might damage the reputation of the dwarves of Erebor in the peaceful lands of the Shire.

“Well, do you not wonder?” Nori queries back, as if the princes know exactly what he’s referring to. “You were there, same as me. For months we witnessed them pine for one another—stuff worthy of ballads that was. Even with the occasional hiccups, my money was always on them shacking up in the end. And when we won the battle and all of us came out on the other side alive, what else was there to wait for?”

They both nod along and voice similar experiences and memories—like that one time after the goblin caves when the halfling saved the king’s life, or when Bilbo vouched for Thorin before all the men of Lake Town, oh or that time with the armour of pure _mithril_ that as far as any of them were concerned was still in Bilbo’s possession and was honestly as direct a proposal any dwarf could ever hope to offer and—

“Yes, yes—my point is, _what_ might have made our master Baggins turn around and change his mind? Or maybe even _who_ has shown up to steal our burglar and changed his heart…”

The princes frown deeply at this, both thinking hard on just what sort of hobbit could have shown up and outdone what had been developing so wonderfully between their uncle and their hobbit.

“…and how can we steal him back?” Nori finishes with a grin, and matching ones soon grow on both princes’ faces.

“Master Nori, you are a true _genius_ we will have you know.”

“A true aide to the throne!”

“Yes, yes—you may thank me later. Now, come show off your pretty little smiles to these hobbits so we can learn what they know.”

And so Kíli, Fíli and Nori set off into Hobbiton in order to learn just who Bilbo Baggins is to marry—and to learn just _how_ they can show Bilbo that he is about to have a subpar piece of crust when he could have a feast of dwarven pie instead. If he agrees to come with them. To Erebor. Hopefully for forever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are several unexpected visitors in Bag End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This.... grew. Yeah, I'm sorry, it's apparently 5 parts now. Sorry it's such a mess. I especially extend my apology to a Mister Thorin Oakenshield. Yeah.

Thorin, Balin, Óin, Dori, Ori and Bofur encounter only two staring hobbits on their trek up the Hill. The trail here is almost quiet, its peace interrupted only by the commotion and bustle that can still be heard from the fields bellow. They agree that most of Bilbo’s neighbours are likely taking part in the preparations in some way or another, and Thorin feels grateful for the lack of scrutiny now.

He draws a deep breath as they round the final turn, and a green, round door comes into view.

It is very much like in his dreams, for it has always been the beginning of the many different scenarios his imagination has conjured for him. For a short moment it feels nothing but _right_ to be standing there by this door, to finally see Bilbo again—but it passes, for in the new circumstances his courage fails him utterly.

Every fibre of his mind is telling him not to bother, that they should not be making this more complicated than it is. They should return to Erebor and let Bilbo tell them in his own time. He shouldn’t be making this harder than it already is.

For he knows, deep in his traitorous heart, that the moment he sees Bilbo again it will be much, much harder to leave.

And so, it is almost a relief when Balin knocks—once, twice, three times—on the green, rounded door, and no one answers.

“Hm,” hums Dori. “It seems he is not at home.”

Balin tries the handle, and it gives easily. “If he is not, he hasn’t locked the door behind him.”

“The burglar’s senses have grown dull,” Óin chuckles good-naturedly.

It is not normal for dwarves to invite themselves into another’s home, but Bilbo had told them, after all, not to bother knocking. Slowly, they all shuffle inside, hang their cloaks on one of the many pegs and wipe their shoes on the mat.

Bofur calls out Bilbo’s name, but nothing but silence answers them.

“How strange,” Balin remarks, and a sort of unease grows among them.

“Better check in the garden,” says Bofur, and proceeds to do just that. The others nod and agree to search the rest of the smial.

Thorin steps into the hall and pauses there. He turns and takes in the many chambers, the sitting room, the study, and feels the vague familiarity of them from that night so long ago. The smial is quite different now, with the warmth and the gentle sunlight filtering through the windows and over the floor.

For all the time they had spent on the road or in more gruesome circumstances, it is not hard to imagine Bilbo there, among the books and armchairs he had spoken so fondly of, a pipe in his hand and an ease about him as he looks out over Hobbiton from the bench on his front porch. It is a good home. It is warm and bright, and full of all the comforts a hobbit holds dear.

And it is not at all like a mountain.

Once again, their undertaking begins to seem foolish to Thorin, and his initial motivations seem bleak. Had not Bilbo said so himself, that this was where he belonged? Not under a mountain, no matter how warm and grand and prosperous, but in his armchair in a hobbit-hole in a land of peace and comfort.

To think that his foolish heart, no matter how strong and how true, could ever beg Bilbo leave all this for a foolish dwarf king and his mountain.

Thorin swallows, but the pain yet lingers. To distract from his ever-heavy thoughts he takes a turn about the parlour, brightly lit by the sunlight streaming through the south-facing window there. The hearth is put out, and likely has not been lit for many weeks now that summer breathes its heat across the lands. He lets his hand brush over the mantle there as he walks by, admiring briefly the portraits hung above it and the many dried flowers that he cannot begin to name. He glances at the armchair, and thinks to sit in, but keeps moving instead. He still hears his companions shuffle about and talk amongst themselves further inside the smial.

He carries on to the wide desk that’s sat beneath the window. Bilbo had often spoken of his study, of the shelves packed with scrolls and spines, whole and broken alike, and the writing desk where he did most of his paperwork and such. Some of it must have spilled into the parlour, for the desk here, too, is full of parchments and books and notes. He walks by it and glances down, unable to resist the urge sate his curiosity.

There are maps and quills and pens, and many surely important papers for a gentlehobbit to possess. He reads openings lines such as “Rent and Land Taxes, The Hill, April” and “Concerning ownership of Bag End in case of demise”, nestled among drawings and illustrations of several objects, such as swords, axes, a shield—made from oak.

His interest piqued, Thorin looks on and sees that many of the subjects of these drawings are familiar. They are his own or belonging to the members of the company. Bilbo’s own _Sting_ has been neatly detailed in one such illustration; Orcrist is there too, recognisable but not quite true to form, surely drawn from memory.

He flips on through the many leaves of parchment, and finds trees, tall pine trees on a cliff and dwarves clinging to their crowns, the approaching outlines of wargs nearing the trunks. He finds feathers, large as long-swords—from the eagles, surely. He finds the forest of Mirkwood, the blackened stream that runs through its midst… Then there’s Erebor. The Lonely Mountain as seen from the Lake. The next one is a particularly detailed drawing—of Smaug above the treasure hoard, and a small familiar hobbit standing at its feet.

Small, but fiercely courageous. More so than any of the dwarves cowering in the tunnels above him, then.

His chest twinges in remembrance of this regret, of one of the many that would come after.

Thorin shakes his head lose from the web of thought. He wonders, instead, what Bilbo must look like now. A handful or two of years hardly changes a grown dwarf, but a hobbit… He wonders if Bilbo has felt the years more strongly than he. A few streaks of silver in-between the bronze of his curls, eyes a little wizened, belly a little softened—any and all such changes surely would not retract from the hobbit Thorin meets in his memories. His only regret still is that he has not been there to witness it.

A noise draws his attention suddenly, to the dining room beyond the kitchen.

It sounds suspiciously like a drawer opening, and the clutter of cutlery within. Thorin finds this strange, as he is certain none of the company would go ruffling through their Burglar’s belonging (feeling only slightly guilty by his own trespassing just then).

He sees Balin in the hall then, and signs for him to call the others to investigate.

Soon, the dwarves are all accounted for, and then on high alert as they realise that whoever is shuffling about in the dining room is not of their company. They slowly inch closer to the room, Balin and Thorin approaching from the kitchen, the rest from either side of the hallway. On the king’s signal, they all enter and are met with a loud feminine gasp as a hobbit that is decidedly not the master of this smial appears before them.

“Ruffians! Thieves! Trespassers! Away with you now, lest I scream louder!” the hobbit woman threatens, brandishing in front of her a large silver serving-spoon as a weapon.

The dwarves look bewildered amongst each other. Bofur questioningly gestures ‘the bride?’ but there is an air about her that makes her seem just as out of place as any of them.

Balin keeps his cool and lifts his hands to show they mean no harm. “Now-now lass, I bid you calm yourself. We are friends of master Baggins, here on his invitation.”

Balin means to persuade her to trust them. Yet, the dwarves feel very aware of her, and her presence in the home of their burglar. She seems a young adult, but it is hard for them to discern the ages of hobbits. Her curls are gathered in an elaborate updo, and her skirts are bright and too fine to be those of a maid or gardener. Is she perhaps, as Bofur had suggested, their burglar’s intended?

“Now that we have announced ourselves, we bid you do the same,” Thorin says to her. “State your name and reason for being in master Baggins’ home in lieu of his presence.”

“I am Bilbo Baggins’ family, I will have you know! He is my husband’s first cousin, and we are his next of kin! Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is my name,” she announces herself grandly, waving the spoon around as if to warn them to keep away. “And I should like to know why a bunch of dwarves are—”

She suddenly quiets down and looks to be thinking on their appearance.

She then says, “You are _Bilbo’s_ _dwarves_ , are you not? The ones he went on his adventure with.”

Balin smiles obligingly. “That would be us, yes.”

“And why have you come?”

“To see our friend, of course,” Bofur offers jovially. “And to ask him to come visit. We miss him a terrible lot, you see— some of us especially so. We just arrived here today on the morrow and found all this marriage business going on, so we haven’t gotten to speak with him just yet.”

Thorin glares at him to quiet his stream of words.

The hobbit woman however, Lobelia, looks at them as if she is seeing them for the first time.

“Ah yes! My poor cousin has been very busy as of late. Incredibly so! Dreadful thing really, all of this, for his poor health,” she bemoans then, her tone of voice turned sweet and full of worry for her kin. “Oh, I fear so for his health! He has been bemoaning the wedding and all ever since the preparations started! Said he should have gone on vacation to get away from us all, he did. I fear the stress of being part of such social events is getting to him, sadly.”

This is all rather terrible, the dwarves agree. They look warily at each other.

“Missus Baggins, are you trying to tell us that Bilbo… that this is all, in fact, not in Bilbo’s best interest?” Balin asks carefully.

“Oh, absolutely!” she cries. “This whole marriage is causing upheaval in the way of things, straining family ties that have already been established. The order of the family, the very _line of succession_ might very well be at risk if he goes through with this!”

“Then why has he done it?”

“Oh, because he’s gone mad!” She restrains herself a little. “Mad—for adventures! Our cousin Bilbo was never the same after he returned from his journey with—with his _good and generous_ dwarf friends. In fact, had this marriage business not kept him here he had planned to be off already this spring!”

“Bilbo had planned to travel?” Bofur asks her. “Where?”

“Oh, somewhere east, I suppose! That’s where they always go, is it not so? He is always telling tales of mountains and dwarves and what-not, so somewhere your way I believe. But then the wedding was to happen, and now—well see! He is still here.” She pauses. “But where are my manners—come, sit! We shall all sit comfortably and have some tea, and I will tell you all about my cousin’s ailments. I’m sure he has not shared them thinking not to worry you, but do believe me when I say that Bilbo Baggins _needs_ to leave as soon as he possibly can, lest something happens that we will all regret!”

There is a bit of hustle and bustle then as Dori puts the tea to brew and Ori assists Lobelia in finding a tea-set that will sit all seven of them. The rest of them are sat waiting in the kitchen, smoking their pipes and thinking on what they’ve just learned.

Thorin can hardly fathom what she’s been telling them, but if she indeed speaks the truth then… then Bilbo had planned to travel. Bilbo had wanted to come to them.

And he would have. He would have come to Erebor, to Thorin, of his own will and longing. Until this sudden and unavoidable engagement stopped him. Suddenly, Nori’s farfetched idea of family disputes and blackmailing no longer seems so imaginary. The many drawings of dwarves and Erebor and their adventures suddenly seems to be a proof of longing. A cry for help.

He needs to know the truth of this. He needs to speak with Bilbo.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading x
> 
> I'm on Tumblr [@stupidfatpenguin](https://stupidfatpenguin.tumblr.com/) ! I would love to talk about The Hobbit / Lotr with you, spread the love for Bagginshield or maybe share a prompt or two


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